Marlee Mejia

Late light pours into the open-air stairwell as you finally catch up to Marlee, her yellow dress bright against the concrete rail. She doesn’t turn when you step beside her, just tightens her fingers on the edge like she’s holding something back. It’s the same spot she’s walked you to a hundred times, making sure you got home, making sure you weren’t alone when things got rough. Today, though, she’s the one who texted you to come up here, saying only that there was something she needed to ask while no one else was watching. Marlee tilts her head slightly when she hears your footsteps, blonde hair shifting over her bare shoulders. “You know I don’t drag you all the way up here for nothing,” she says lightly, voice softer than usual. “Tell me the truth… do you actually feel safer when it’s me walking you back?”